


And if you could talk to me

by Gara_x



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bruises, Crying, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Idiots in Love, Jaskier has a secret, M/M, Misunderstandings, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Suspected abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23443621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gara_x/pseuds/Gara_x
Summary: The man was a young, almost delicate thing, chin-length blonde hair falling onto a sharp jawline; Geralt watched him lean into Jaskier's space, fussing with the bard's doublet.Jaskier smiled: a fond, intimate smile.'Why are your clothes always undone?' his companion laughed, closing the top hook with a flick of his wrist.Geralt wanted to snap him like a twig.orWhen Geralt suspects that Jaskier's new lover has been hurting him, our himbo engages protective!witcher mode.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 327
Collections: Witcher Mini Bang 2020





	And if you could talk to me

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Gara_x](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gara_x/pseuds/Gara_x) in the [WitcherReverseBang](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/WitcherReverseBang) collection. 



The first thing Geralt noticed was that Jaskier had a new companion. The man was a young, almost delicate thing, chin-length blonde hair falling onto a sharp jawline; Geralt watched him lean into Jaskier's space, fussing with the bard's doublet. 

Jaskier smiled: a fond, intimate smile. 

'Why are your clothes always undone?' his companion laughed, closing the top hook with a flick of his wrist.

Geralt wanted to snap him like a twig. 

Of course, the bard could - and did- take any lover that struck his fancy. Geralt knew that he had no say in that; it wasn't as though Jaskier wanted him. Sure, there had been moments when he'd thought there might have been something going on between them, but then he'd ruined it, and that was that.

After the outburst on the mountain, Jaskier had accepted his apology, but things had slowly changed. He no longer talked incessantly; he stopped pretending to flirt, stopped using any opportunity to insist that they were friends. He gave Geralt long, thoughtful looks, almost like there was something he wanted to tell him and didn't know how. Every day, Geralt almost expected to find him gone, having found the words to say goodbye but decided not to share them. 

Now that they'd been spending the past month in Novigrad gathering intelligence on a nest of ghouls, Geralt was convinced he would leave this town alone, which may or may not have led to his delay in tackling said ghouls. Collecting information on their movements was just as important as killing them, he told himself. It would prevent future nests, keeping the town safe. 

Initially, Jaskier had tried tagging along.

'I could make myself useful. I could be, uh, ghoul bait,' he'd said, tripping over an upturned rock and nearly falling flat on his arse. 

'No,' Geralt had told him, placing a steady hand on his back. 'You won't be able to defend yourself.'

'I'm _fine_ ,' the bard mumbled, his voice small. 

'You can't even walk straight,' Geralt said, moving his hand to rest on Jaskier's shoulder. 

At that Jaskier looked down, his face reddening with what Geralt could only assume was embarrassment. He'd felt guilt rush through him, then, and let go of his shoulder; he wasn't looking to shame the man, even though he had just watched him trip over his own feet in his haste to offer himself up as _ghoul bait_ , of all things. 

Geralt had expected an argument, and when Jaskier just gave him a serious look before shrugging and turning back, he'd felt almost bereft. 

They were sharing a room at the local tavern to save coin, but the bard had been spending more and more time away, doing Melitele only knew what. And the what became clearer when Geralt noticed the man, the young blonde leering at Jaskier, adjusting his clothes, getting his sickly elderflower smell all over the bard's calming scent of sandalwood and lavender.

Jaskier preened. 'This is Rafal, an old friend from Oxenfurt. Funny meeting him here, isn't it Geralt?'

'Yes,' he said, giving the blonde a once-over. 'Funny.'

'Rafal is in town working on his new book.'

Geralt frowned. Another pampered arse who fancied himself an intellectual. They always talked down to him, Oxenfurt men. It was his least favourite town, and he avoided it as much as he could. They never called him a mutant or threw him out of taverns, of course. That kind of behaviour was uncouth, beneath them. But he could see it in their faces, in the way they turned from him and thought themselves illuminated for merely tolerating his presence.

'Hmm.' 

'You'll have to excuse Geralt. He doesn't talk much,' Jaskier explained. 

'Unlike you, darling,' Rafal said in a cheerful voice. 'You could learn a thing or two about not talking.'

Jaskier looked down, casting a nervous glance in Geralt's direction. 

The witcher gave Rafal his best glare, but the prick missed it, immersed as he was in laughing at Jaskier. What kind of companion shamed his lover in front of his friends?

A week later, Geralt had run out of excuses and had to actually go slay some ghouls, which put him in an unexpectedly foul mood considering he was a witcher and slaying monsters was his job. He returned to the inn tired and hungry, entering their room carefully and relieved to note that Jaskier's companion was nowhere in sight.

'Monsters all finished off?' Jaskier said, examining him. 'You're surprisingly clean. I was getting ready for a bath, myself.' 

He turned his back to Geralt, who watched him undress out of the corner of his eye. Jaskier folded his clothes meticulously; there was more muscle on him than before, his spine no longer jutting out as though it might fall apart at any moment. 

'Hmm,' Geralt said, before he could stop himself. 

Jaskier turned around with a questioning look. 'See something you like?'

It was then that Geralt noticed a large bruise marring the pale skin on his left arm, purple fading into yellow just below his shoulder, like someone had gripped him too hard. He stared at it without replying.

Jaskier pouted, walking past him to throw his doublet onto a chair. 'Of course not.'

'What happened to your arm?' he said.

Jaskier covered the bruise with his hand, stroking it absent-mindedly. He didn't quite meet Geralt's eyes.

'I walked into a door.' It was ridiculous, but also exactly the sort of thing he would do. 'Yes, the inn door. And then the barmaid caught me, and she had to keep me from falling,' he said with a worried smile, talking fast, like he did when he was trying to keep himself out of trouble. 'It was funny, Geralt, _hi-larious_.'

The bard was as bad at lying as he was at looking after himself. He continued on about how amusing the incident of his run-in with the door had been, and the more details he added, the more suspicious his tale.

'Hmm.'

Geralt narrowed his eyes, but Jaskier went back to folding his clothes.

An idea began to form, and he did not like it one bit. 

The next thing Geralt noticed made him see red. He watched from the window of their room at the inn as Jaskier and Rafal walked down the narrow street together. It's not that Geralt was spying on them, per se; he was simply looking out for the bard, who seemed to have made it through life by sheer dumb luck.

The two walked close together, talking animatedly, but it was too far away even for Geralt's keen senses to pick up their words. All he knew was that one moment Jaskier was waving his arm around, probably to make a point, and then Rafal caught it, twisting it roughly behind his back.

Jaskier tried to push against him, looking pained as he struggled against his grasp. He managed to shove Rafal back a little, but the man must have been stronger than he looked, because he maintained his grip on Jaskier's arm and tightened it, leaning over to say something in his ear before letting him go. Jaskier just looked resigned, and even tried smiling at the man, shrugging his shoulders. He looked like it was not the first time this had happened, and worse, like he did not think it would be the last. 

Geralt punched the windowsill, sending a few potted plant bowls scattering everywhere. He'd seen his share of bad relationships, and it made his blood boil to think that Jaskier was being hurt by that Oxenfurt snob. 

When Jaskier returned to their room, Geralt was pacing, had been pacing for the best part of an hour, right after he'd failed at meditating for the first time in years.

'Sit down,' Geralt said. 

Jaskier looked worried, taking in Geralt's wild eyes and the potted plant mess. He sat carefully. 'Is something wrong?'

'You tell me.'

'What happened to the plants?'

'Fuck the plants,' Geralt said, cringing at how harsh it had come out sounding. 'Do you have something you need to say?'

Jaskier tensed and hesitated before opening his mouth. 'I won't take Roach out again, I promise, don't be mad, she just needed a change of scenery-' 

Geralt stared. 'I- what? That's not what this is about.'

'What is this, then? Why are you yelling at me?' he said in a small voice.

Geralt's stomach clenched. Jaskier thought he was yelling. At _him_. Fuck. He needed to calm down. 'It's just,' he tried again. 'You'd tell me if there was something wrong?'

Jaskier looked unsure. 'Maybe?'

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling tension beginning to build behind his eyes. He was fucking this up; he didn't know how to be gentle with Jaskier, who was obviously scared. 'I could help,' he said, weakly. 

Jaskier brushed him off with a wave of his hand. 'I'll keep that in mind, Geralt, now please, I'm starving.'

'Hmm.'

Of course he didn't trust Geralt. And why would he, after he'd been shouted at and left to fend for himself on an unfamiliar mountain infested with monsters and bandits and the gods only knew what else?

Jaskier stood, limping a little as he crossed the room. Geralt cursed himself for not knowing the right words to say. 

'Jaskier?'

'Yeah?'

'Don't touch Roach.'

The bard smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. 

The final straw came when Geralt discovered that Jaskier had started carrying a dagger. It was small and concealed inside his boot, but Geralt was a _witcher_ , so of course he noticed. He heard Jaskier fumbling around one morning, careful not to wake him, and saw him hiding the weapon before disappearing for hours with his lover. 

_The bard feared for his life._

Geralt felt guilt and anger coiling in his stomach, cursing himself for not having put an end to this sooner.

Rafal sat by the window of the tavern, drinking sweet wine and writing something in an expensive-looking notebook. Geralt ripped it out of his hands, tossing it to the side and sending scraps of paper flying everywhere. 

'Hey!' Rafal cried in a high-pitched voice, looking up to see Geralt looming over him. 'You're the w-witcher, Jaskier's friend-' he stuttered. He looked afraid, which just made Geralt angrier.

'That's right,' he growled, lifting Rafal from his chair by his shirt before kicking the chair out of the way and pushing him into the wall. His back slammed against it with a satisfying thud; the sound of a breath being forced out of his lungs was music to Geralt's ears, better than any ballad ever written. 

People turned to stare, but no one dared to say anything. 

'What are you doing?' Rafal whimpered. The sour stench of fear overpowered his usual elderflower notes.

' _Talking_ ,' Geralt snarled, trapping him against the wall. 'I talk, you listen.'

Rafal nodded, looking terrified.

'I'll make it simple. You hurt Jaskier, I'm going to chop off your balls and feed them to you. Understood?'

'Why would I-'

Geralt kicked him in the groin, hard. Rafal screamed, doubling over in pain. 'Understood?'

'Please,' he choked out, panting hard. 'I won't hurt him, I won't.'

Geralt grabbed his arm and dragged him into an upright position, barely restraining himself from kicking the man again. 'You won't mention this conversation to him. Otherwise I'll tie one half of you to a tree, the other to my horse, and ride off into the sunset.'

The man trembled so hard it was difficult to believe that this coward had the nerve to hurt someone as soft as Jaskier, who deserved all the stars in the sky. 'I won't, please, witcher, _sir_. I won't say a word.'

Geralt released him, looking disgusted as Rafal scrambled to run away.

Jaskier returned late that evening, slipping into the room quietly, listening out for any sounds before approaching the bed. 

Geralt felt the mattress dip, and opened his eyes when he heard a soft hiss of pain. 'Jaskier?'

The bard flinched, turning away. He sat on the edge of the bed, and the moon coming through the window cast light onto his loose shirt, which was drenched in sweat. 'I thought you were asleep.'

'What's going on?'

'Nothing,' he said in a shaky voice which made Geralt sit bolt upright. 'I'm sorry I woke you. Can we go to sleep, please?' He sounded hurt and exhausted.

Geralt took a deep breath. 'Jaskier, look at me.'

For a moment it seemed like Jaskier would refuse, but then he slowly turned to look over his shoulder, and Geralt's insides twisted at the sight of him. His cheek was bruised an angry shade of purple, while the rest of his face flushed with embarrassment. 

'Jaskier, gods.'

'It's nothing, honestly. I just fell-'

'You fell.'

'Yes, I was brushing, uh, a horse that wasn't Roach, and I-'

'Fell onto someone's fist?'

'I-'

'Shut up,' Geralt said, and Jaskier closed his mouth immediately. Geralt mentally kicked himself; he didn't want to remind Jaskier of Rafal. 'Wait here,' he said, softer this time. 

Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed, swinging his feet, looking lost. Geralt rummaged inside his bag, returning with a small pot of salve. 

'May I?' he said, gesturing to the bed. 

'Sure,' Jaskier shrugged.

Geralt sat next to him, careful not to make any sudden movements. He spread some salve onto his own fingers, feeling the cool minty burn before gently raising his hand to rub it into Jaskier's swollen cheek.

Jaskier sighed and melted into his touch, leaning closer against the witcher to press their foreheads together. That had not been part of the plan; Geralt had expected him to flinch back, and now that Jaskier's face was so close to his he didn't know what to do.

He was frozen to the spot as the bard's lips found his, unresponsive although everything in him yearned to kiss back. He couldn't take advantage of Jaskier in such a vulnerable moment; it wasn't right. After a few moments, his hand slowly dropped from Jaskier's cheek and he pulled away, feeling everything all at once; the ghost of Jaskier's kiss, the smell of sandalwood and lavender, a faint smell of elderflower.

Jaskier drew back and curled in on himself as a sob tore though his body. He was crying. _Fuck._

'Jaskier?' Geralt reached over to wipe his tears away, careful as he touched the bruised skin on his cheek. This was his fault, for confronting that prick and then leaving Jaskier alone to face the consequences. Jaskier was hurt because of him. 'I'm sorry.'

Jaskier huffed. 'I'm the one who should be sorry. Sorry I kissed you, I just...'

Geralt swallowed against the tightening in his throat. It was a mistake, that's all; he was sorry for it. 'You've been through a lot. It's okay to be confused.'

Jaskier frowned. 

'I caused this,' Geralt said.

'What?' The frown deepened. 

'I threatened and kicked him earlier. It's my fault.'

Jaskier pulled back, wiping tears away furiously, looking confused. 'Geralt, what are you talking about? Who did you threaten?'

'He's not going to hurt you anymore, I swear it, I'm going to kill him this time-'

'Geralt-'

'I'm going to rip him apart and feed his body to the wolves-'

'Geralt!' he shouted. His breath hitched when Geralt fell silent. 'What do you think is happening here?'

'That horse's arse Rafal... Your face...' Geralt struggled to find words.

'So you know.'

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier sighed, looking deflated. 'I deserved it. I'm not good at this. I don't know what I was thinking.' 

'Don't say that.' It hurt somewhere deep inside Geralt, hearing him say that he somehow deserved what had been done to him. 

'What?'

Geralt wanted to pull him close and hold him for all the rest of time. 'You didn't deserve this. No lover should be doing this to you.'

Jaskier looked confused. '...lover?'

Geralt raised an eyebrow. 'Stop lying, Jaskier, you're bad at it and there's no need to be ashamed-'

Jaskier bristled. 'Rafal is _not_ my lover, honestly Geralt, I'm offended, I don't know what's been rattling around in that pretty head of yours, but we are just old friends-'

Had the bard just called him _pretty_? Geralt stored that thought for later. 'He beats you, Jaskier.'

There was a moment of silence. 

'No need to point it out. I know I'm terrible,' Jaskier said eventually, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin against them. 'I was hoping I could get better, for you.'

'For me?'

'Forget it.'

'No,' Geralt said, so forcefully that Jaskier started a little. 'Sorry. Jaskier, I would never,' he continued, softly this time. 'I'd never lay a hand on you like that.' He reached out to stroke Jaskier's back, rubbing careful circles through his damp shirt.

'T-thank you?' Jaskier whispered, shivering beneath his touch. 'What's gotten into you, Geralt? Please don't tease me, I can't take it. I'm going to need some time to get over the embarrassment of crying after trying to kiss The White Wolf of Rivia and getting soundly rejected.' He buried his head in his hands, blush creeping out from underneath his fingers all the way up to his ears. 

'I didn't mean to.' Geralt took a deep breath. 'Reject you, that is. Gods, Jaskier, I really wanted to kiss you back.'

Jaskier looked up at that. 'Then why?'

'I didn't know what to do.' He pushed himself to talk, straining against every impulse telling him not to, because Jaskier deserved to hear this. 'After the dragon hunt I said some unforgivable things, and you came back, and I know it's not the same, but - I want to keep you safe. I know you fall in love and you give yourself and you might not want to leave him but you don't deserve to be hit.'

Geralt forced himself to meet the bard's eyes, and Jaskier looked so shocked he may as well have seen Melitele herself. 

'What are you... that's the most words I've heard come out of your mouth, ever, and what-' Jaskier opened his mouth, then closed it. '... _oh_.'

The bard gasped and doubled over, clasping a hand over his mouth. Geralt's hand stilled on his back. The bard was shaking, making these small, choked-up sounds. Geralt tried to shush him and tell him it was okay, but when Jaskier looked up again he wasn't crying.

He was shaking with _laughter._

'Jaskier?' Geralt said, beginning to worry that the bard's sanity was crumbling. 

Jaskier took a few moments to breathe, breaking down laughing twice more before managing to calm down. 'Geralt,' he said seriously, taking the witcher's hand in both of his and stroking it delicately. 'Rafal is not my _lover_. He doesn't lay hands on me, although the gods know I deserve a slap sometimes - _don't make that face_ ,' he warned when Geralt glared. 'He's a very dear friend, with a talent for sparring. A talent I don't share, as evidenced by the number of times he's beaten me at it. I got this bruise by tripping and falling face first into the dirt before he could catch me. I'm sorry, Geralt. I didn't mean to worry you.'

Geralt's stared at him, head spinning. It made sense - the looks, the sneaking around, the hidden dagger. Jaskier was still holding his hand, running his thumb along the skin on his wrist. 'Why were you sparring?' he said, stupidly. 

Jaskier flushed again. 'I - I wanted to impress you. You said I couldn't defend myself.'

'I could've taught you better than that pampered arse,' Geralt huffed, before the rest of that sentence registered with him. 'You wanted to impress me. Why?'

'You're going to make me say it?' Jaskier said, letting go of Geralt's hand to hide his face in his palms again. 'You're a sadist, Geralt, honestly.' 

Geralt just gave him a look and waited.

'Fine,' Jaskier said, his voice muffled behind his hands. 'I like you, you big idiot.'

_What?_

'Say something, please.'

'You... like me.'

'Melitele's tits, I'm going to kill you. I've liked you for years, please tell me that you know that,' he said, looking up at Geralt's confused face. 'Oh gods, you don't know that.'

'You didn't say anything.'

'How could I? You asked life to give you the blessing of taking me off your hands,' Jaskier said with a flash of pain in his eyes.

Geralt looked down, feeling small. 'Forgive me.'

Jaskier moved closer, close enough that Geralt could feel the warmth radiating from his body. 'I have, but fuck, that really hurt.'

'I'm sorry.'

'I know,' Jaskier said, brushing a strand of Geralt's silver hair behind his ear before lifting his chin up.

Geralt leaned into his touch, looking into red-rimmed cornflower blue eyes. Gods, he could've looked at Jaskier forever. 'You like me?'

Jaskier sighed and rolled his eyes. 'We've been over this. Are you sure those witcher mutations don't have any delayed side effects? You're being painfully slow right now.'

'But,' Geralt said, ignoring the insult.

'But what?'

'You've been so quiet. Not playing your obnoxious lute, or fidgeting, or talking my ear off.' 

'Because those things annoy you, Geralt. I didn't want you to leave me again, for the sake of a lousy song,' Jaskier admitted, quietly. 

Geralt felt a stab of guilt in his stomach. 'I thought _you_ were planning to leave.' He brushed his hand against Jaskier's thigh, just barely touching him. 'Some of your songs are okay.'

Jaskier smiled, and then winced when this made the bruise on his cheek hurt. 'Really? Not like a fillingless pie?'

'Shut up.'

'You like me too, admit it.'

'Hmm,' he said, locking their fingers together. He wanted to pull Jaskier closer, but something kept him frozen to the spot. The bard liked him. He wanted to impress him. He'd called him _pretty_. The moment expanded, lengthened, threatening to choke him. 

'Geralt?' Jaskier said, breaking the silence.

'Yes?'

'Now that you don't think I'm being beaten by my lover, do you think I could have that kiss?'

Geralt smiled, finally reaching out to brush Jaskier's hair back, trailing his fingers through his hair before resting his hand on the back of his neck.

'Come here.'


End file.
